Holding Hands
by TouchingNoFace
Summary: Several characters, from various romantic couplings, reflect on the emotions holding hands with their loved one brings up. Updated three chapters!
1. The Tip of Their Blades Touch

Holding Hands

Hello there. This is pretty much self-explanatory, but Holding Hands by TouchingNoFace (me) will have one character, from each ship, explore their feelings on holding hands with their loved one. An example would be Kataang: Aang reflecting on his feelings on holding Kataras hand.

I have several follow-ups to this sort of fanfiction. I hope you will enjoy them, and this as well. I'm trying to curve it into a sort of odd story. It's a simple idea at best; just how I like it.Thank you for reading this.

TouchingNoFace.

(P.S. I will _not_ explain which pairing is being described until the very end, in hopes the reader may decide for themselves and see how they feel. I will try not to be completely obvious on which is what pairing, but if I am-- that is just how it goes guys. My goal is to touch, once, on each pairing that has, if not a cruise, a boat-sized fanbase; such as Soko: SongxZuko and Maiko: MaixZuko. This definitely does not leave out Jet, Sokka, or other character pairings; such as Koh and Azula.)

Here is the first one:

* * *

It was the slip of her hand joining his, that made him swallow. 

Her warmth seemed to seep through his palm; nothing like ice, like the daggers she carried. The flesh between her fingers were slightly cut, he realized,as he took her hand- felt every space, every piece. He assumed it was from practicing her weaponry, all hours of the day, when she were younger...

He assumed.

He assumed her skin would make him crawl, make him uneasy. He assumed that thin wrist- that mischievous _smile_!- would make it...uncomfortable for him to wake up to in the morning; to see when he trudged through his day; to gaze upon as he fell asleep.

_She has proved me wrong, so many times... And yet, I continue to assume_.

He didn't understand this pattern- this trick: how did she always make him feel so _simple_? As her hands trailed up- her hair a mess- and yes, as she trailed up his skin...running a fingertip in areas- making him cringe or sigh from positions he didn't know _existed_-

Her hands were always keen.

And her fingertips were always gentle. Surprising, he would muse alone, from a woman who burdened herself with so many odd blades- burdenedherself with learning to battle.

"Why?"

He grunted in reply, closing his eyes, treasuring her gaze on him.

She needn't say anymore.

Her hand slipped back-_ joined_ back, with his.

"You feel nothing," she admitted, much more to herself he reasoned, "like I imagined."

"Oh?"

"Your much better than the skin of an apple..."

_Much better than the skin of a doll_.


	2. Drifting Earth

"Fine," she sighed warily. "I _still _don't see the point though."

Their hands touched. She turned away- abruptly becoming fascinated with a sprinkle of fallen leaves. The atmosphere softened considerably, and he...couldn't help but wonder why this moment- this joining of hands- seemed so new and fresh each time they did it...Even the air felt as though it were brushing against him- gliding, swirling-no, _crashing_ against him in a way it hadn't before...

But...why her?

"Don't ask me," she replied disinterested, falling back on the ground with closed eyes at his questioning. "I don't get why I feel this way about _you _either!_"_ And she snapped at him when he smugly asked: what 'way'?

Her hand was warm. ("What? Did you think my hand was cold as the dead?" She rolled her eyes at him). It was because of how she was- or rather, _who_ she was, that he couldn't completely get a grip on the fact that...the warmth inside her wasn't gritty; the warmth from her hand wasn't hard-edged or cruel. That knowledge always surprised him.

"Oh, be _quiet_," she laughed, when he joked about her essence, joked that she was so grounded her heart must be on some rocks, and he'd have to find it someday. "And where is your heart anyway; if mines on stone?" ("Yes, I want a real answer!" she added hastily, glaring at his humorous grin.)

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

Quietly, he blew his breath to the sky...

He knew she'd understand.

* * *

I feel like such a softy writing this sort of story. It's a nice feeling. I've quite fallen in love with it. 


	3. Steam Tea

His face, so smooth and serious, wasn't the most captivating part.

It was his hand- the _whole_ of his hand. The way it was larger than hers- (so startling!)- and was completely firm and sure, cross and steady. The way it twitched when he was angry shocked and helped her: she could always read when he was in a mood now; his eyes weren't the only clue.

If she were honest, she most enjoyed when his fingertips would slide against her face...She'd breathe in deeply then, and would not worry, would not care about all else. It was a different love that seeped from his nails-_ romantic, demanding, trusting_. Moments that showed that; she desired.

She never worried he'd use his hand to harm her, despite his...unexpected... temper. He could not hold her so gently, murmur after an intense training match- _laughing_, "Uncles tea would be pleased," and want to then burn her- physically hurt her. She knew he felt the same; she would never harm him- How could she? When he held her chin with such love late in the nights...

Such a different person he turned out to be; completely different from the regular friends she kept in touch with. It was much more important to her- in the end- that they had friendship to go with their romantic love. After all, being with him used to be so strange: she hardly knew him then! And what she did know did _not _settle well.

There...

There had to be more than sexual tension.

Even now, she couldn't always 'get' him... but, eventually, with time, she came to realize that was half the _fun._

"Do you want to know me?" he asked her one morning, eyes shining like the sunset. "Do you want to know me...like you knew him?"

She shook her head 'no'. He asked her if that was okay: if he wasn't like the boy before...would that be all right?

She nodded- '_yes_'- Didn't he know?

That was how it was meant to be.

* * *

I hope everyone is still enjoying Holding Hands. Please feel free to continue to post which pairings you think are being described. (I'd love toknow your guesses!)These chapters really come out in sudden moods and urges-It's good fun. 


	4. Experiencing More

There's no need to worry. Their arms surround each other.

He takes in a breath– _one, two_– and swallows her scent: like water, like herself.

"See?" she murmurs, releasing him slowly with a smile. "Now we can remember what the other feels like...if there's ever-"

He hushes her; draws her body back with his. He doesn't want to let her go– not yet– not with so much going to _happen._

Quietly, he takes her hand. "If there's ever..." He gulps, trying to sound like a man in love rather than the little boy he felt resembled him inside. Things had changed. Things were _changing. _"There will _never_ be- I can-"

"Just hold my hand," she instructs softly, her eyes closing. "Relax...and just hold my hand. Then tell me what you think."

Puzzled now, he–in such exaggerated form she cannot help but giggle– puts to rest all his nerves; his whole body beside her puslsing on the cloth mat. One hand still holds her..._very_ close, and yet: the other...the other...

_Warmth._

_Flesh._

_Dryness?_

_Heat.._.

That_ heat._..that warmth! Despite the element of her bending; that warm hand let flow its tenderness into his blood, let flow a love so strong he held her closer–struggling.

Slightly breathless, he moved his thumb across the back of her hand...than her nails; which felt moist and cool beneath his feel. The space between her fingers was slightly dry...and her hand was a tad smaller than his now...

Unexpectedly, she drew their fingers, intertwining them, connecting them new.

"So..."

"I'll be able to recall." He gave her a handsome smile; one that made her blush and glance down shyly. "I swear to you..."

._..I could feel your love for me... sail up and down into my body... through_ _your hand..._

"Mm..?"

_I felt your heart._


	5. Medicine Change for Limitless Chances

"I'm sorry. If...if I said something back there to hurt your feelings."

_What?_

How could she know, he thought quietly. How...could she see? There was nothing he could hide. Bare, naked- when did he become like this? His emotions tattoed on his flesh in such a welcoming manner-

No.

That _wasn't_ it. The indescribable burts shooting inside him, they weren't welcoming- not even close...were they? He didn't _want_ her to see, he didn't want her to see his _conflictions!_ Sitting there, under such a blue sky- far different from his region of Earth Kingdom...He sat, covered his face with his hands.

He knew...

He had _changed._ As they had sat, in the stone garden, minutes before he had suddenly up and left...as they sat- as _he_ sat watching the breeze carress her cheeks, flushing with, what he hoped would always be, love for him...

_But then_: when she had begun to describe a group, a _team _she had been a part of... in her years- why did such confusing feelings well up inside him? He was _over_ that! He had left behind...all that.

But he couldn't stop feeling_ guilty. _He remembered telling an old man, suddenly:

"I'm just looking for a second chance."

-And he had thrown so much away for that chance, and by doing so he had gotten the chance to be with _her._ So why...this feeling he couldn't describe; why then, did it pain him to think of a team? A team...of_ fighters_.

He had left that _behind_! Did he regret it? Did he regret leaving his longtime pals...comrades...for her? She sat beside him, and took his hand- Her hand was so soft! So much smaller than his...How did it come to be? From the tone of their skin to the tone of their eyes; one gentle, caring, the other: determined, _trying._ When did they fall in love? Did it happen the first time their fingertips touched? Did it grow as their hands touched now?

Yes, he thought, that must be it...and...No...but...Such a _hand_, it intensified his brutal feelings now...Her serene smile, her smell...that smell of herbs; it all:

_She was peace_. Yes...That had to be it. This unfamiliar feeling, as he reflected...he had to say it aloud, make it _real_:

"Peace."

She turned to him, puzzled. He laughed carelessly...kissed her.

"You don't have to apologize." And she rested her head on his shoulders, blushing, with such a secret smile. Silently, he glanced up at the sky: clear...blue...and peaceful. His mind slowly fell into ease. He had no regrets, as he tenderly squeezed her hand.

"Both of us," he whispered, "are bare."


	6. Even So, This Brutal Clumsiness On Us

"Then you will leave. There is nothing here. You won't stay for long, will you?"

It didn't amuse him then: the catty way she tried to degrade his love for her each time he streched to show it. The trimmings of her voice were so _mistrusting._ He slowed his breath.

"Think again."

&&&&

He murmured quietly and she did not catch it.

Possibly, she thought– _thought startled– _that he told her to...'think'? She wasn't sure. After everything how could she _be_ sure?

It dangled...then...

His hand rested before him, partly blocking his face from her view. She minded that, but did not say so. She snuffed at "those gestures of his!" that hid any part of himself... yet the deeper they went, the more 'guilt' crunched at her gut: for she masked herself _so_ much more.

But he accepted it–_truly_. This...this fact that:

He didn't rush.

He didn't scold...as they entered their relationship; as she was nervous about_ herself_. Steadily–so, so steadily:

He let her unveil.

_But why?_ She mused alone, sharp-eyed. _What does he get from this? My body? My kiss? A taste of 'perfect'?_

But she wasn't perfect...and the ever-slipping mask revealed that.

_Oh_–

His hand hid himself! _Why_ did it hide himself? Why did he _let_ it hide himself like that? Of course, resting luxuriously beside her, he probably felt he needn't worry about such things...like annoying her with his positions! No, no– it_ didn't_ annoy her: she knew his face by heart. What did it matter if he used a bodily item to block his face–_the_ face she loved?

"Move your hand."

"Move it for me."

&&&&

He couldn't hide the smirk. The way her face bloomed with frustration made him want to laugh, but he gulped it down and repeated his words:

"Move it for me."

Since crashing into love and transforming it, molding it into bliss and anger and hopeless human lust: life had altered into a dream. Bluntly: a dream slash nightmare, but the nightmare was more...more forgetting the "simple touches"–on his part. He did that so she could help ground herself in their love as necessary. He didn't want to rush her... not after all the fuss from others.

Now that he had _liked_ her and confessed to wanting _love; _now that _she_ had liked him and admitted to wanting "more" he wanted it to flow properly. They had not ventured too far pass the line ("I don't want to ruin it," he would muttered alone) but the beautiful things: the simplistic 'holding hands'...he wanted to try that– granted, he _wanted_ that with her when they were alone, when it twas themselves.

It didn't have to extremely sexual right away, as she often thought he wanted (no matter how many times he told her "not so, don't think that"). A gentle touch..._that's_ what mattered.

Quietly, still looking frustrated and clumsy, she slid a nail over the back of his hand in soft manner. Growing bolder, she carefully lifted his palm– and to his disappointment, held it only for a moment before placing it on her cheek.

"I'll try harder," was all she would say. "I'm a perfectionist, after all."

With a sigh– and a sweeping motion– he took her hand in his. She blushed uneasily, as though this 'hand holding' was much too complicated for her sanity.

"_This_." Would she be comfortable enough to understand soon? He held her back slightly as she leaned to kiss him; instead, holding her tenderly against his chest.

Their hands were _together,_ pulsing with the same thing: blood, and love for eachother. He knew, gradually, she would nail it.

_But even so...even if our love is...I wish you'd see...soon..._

"It's nice..."

"It is."

_I love our awkward hands._

_&&&&_

_I hope everyone is still enjoying Holding Hands. Which pair do you think these recent chapters could be implying? (Smile). I've uploaded a couple of chapters in one day a bit fast. I do hope they prove pleasureable to you. Have a great day everyone!_


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